Confessions of a Genius
by SweeneyintheNight
Summary: My muse has left me for a little while, so while you're waiting for the next chapter of Love Never Dies, here's a oneshot. A girl who works in the BAU starts to notice Reid. Hope you likey!


It was a late Wednesday night. I was busy going over the documents that was piled onto my desk. I had gotten used to it. After all, I have worked at the BAU for five years.

I turned my head to see another agent sitting at the desk on the other side of the room. He was really tall, my guess was six foot one inch; he had these chocolate eyes that matched his chocolate hair; he was very thin, I was guessing naturally thin (he didn't seem like the type to be bending over the toilet forcing up all of his food). From what I heard, he was the smartest agent ever to join the FBI and he was only 24-years-old. His name is Spencer Reid.

He didn't really seem like the "ladies type". None of the girls ever flirted with him, but if the rumors around the Bureau were correct, there were two instances that proved this point otherwise. One instance was that Agent Gideon gave him tickets to some football game and took Jennifer Jereau, another agent. The other instance was that he was protecting the TV actress Lila Archer from a fellow cast mate who was a lesbian stalker and that Lila made out with Spencer in her pool. I don't believe that rumor a bit.

Other than that, he didn't seem like a womanizer. Ironically, his best friend was the biggest womanizer you had ever met. He hit on me quite a few times, but he's not my type. My type is someone who I know can be faithful.

I looked down at the ocean of papers on my desk. I really didn't want to work on the paperwork right then and there. Not when I had my perfect chance. Nobody was around. Nobody could see that a 28-year-old woman staring at a 24-year-old man. There wasn't that big of an age difference. My father is twelve years older than my mother and that never stopped anybody. Why should a four year age difference be any different?

He looked up from his desk. I quickly adverted my eyes so that I wouldn't be caught in the act. After I was sure his eyes were looking at something other than me, I turned back to him. The lights were very dim, but I could swear that he was smiling.

I couldn't help myself anymore. I had to approach him. But I couldn't just walk up to him and say, "Will you go out with me?" I had to play at his game. I had to ask him something that would draw him in.

When it finally came to me, I got up and walked over to his desk. He looked up and smiled at me. God, I could melt with his smile. "Hi," I told him. "I'm Blair."

"I'm Spencer," he replied, holding up his hand in a welcoming manner. "It's nice to meet you."

"I was wondering if you could recommend any Kurt Vonnegut."

"Do you like Kurt Vonnegut?"

"I heard he was a really good author. Just want to know if the rumors are true."

"I personally would recommend _Welcome to the Monkey House_. It's some of his greatest short stories and it's my favorite."

"I'll make sure to buy it next time I'm out."

There was an awkward silence. Luckily, I didn't have to break it.

"So, how long have you worked here?"

"Not long. Only six months. I'm still not quite used to the routine."

"Don't worry. You will soon. Who knows. Maybe in a few years you could be a profiler."

"I don't know. I heard that it was really hard to find the killer."

"Actually, finding the killer is easy. It's finding the motive that's the tricky part."

"The motive?"

"Every serial killer has a motive. Not many people know this, but serial killings are never just at random. In fact, the only times that the killings are at random is when the unsub kills someone in particular and then kills other people to make it look like a serial killing."

His conversation went on for another five minutes. It was a very interesting conversation on how and why serial killers kill. Finally, he was done.

"Do you always carry on a conversation that long?"

"It's a habit."

I had to laugh at this.

"Are you serious?"

"Some people have the habit of smoking, some people have the habit of drinking alcohol excessively. I have the habit of talking a lot."

"And taking drugs."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I made it sound like you're a junkie. What I meant was that some people also have the habit of taking drugs."

Another awkward silence. Spencer just looked down to the ground and didn't say a word. I was starting to wonder if he had a bad experience with drugs. I, unfortunately, had to break the silence.

"My father was a drug addict." Damn. I was always bad at breaking silences.

"Hm?"

"My father was at a party when he was nineteen. Someone spiked his drink with LSD. He immediately became hooked. My mother didn't find out until after he died from an accidental overdose. My mom fell into a deep stage of depression afterwards. My aunt had to live with us so she could take care of me. My mom committed suicide when I was five."

"How old were you when your father died?"

"Four."

He looked down at the ground again. I couldn't stop thinking about how stupid I was for telling him that. I never told anybody about my parents. I talked about it a lot with my aunt and my grandparents, but I never told anybody. I didn't even tell my best friend. So why did I suddenly tell a man that I barely knew? Because I felt safe around him.

A tear rolled down his cheek I finally knew that I went too far. "I'm sorry." That's all I was able to let out of my mouth. I wanted to go on, but I was too weak. I thought of myself as the biggest jerk.

I turned to leave, but just as I did, his hand jerked out and grabbed my arm. I spun around. His head still hadn't looked up from the ground. "Stay," he whispered to me. "Please."

There was nothing I wanted to do more than run back to my home and yell at myself for doing such a stupid thing. But his grip was so firm, his plea was so wrenching, I felt that I had to stay. I had to stay to help him. I didn't know what I had to help him with, but I had to help him.

I suddenly realized how stupid and blind I had been. I had been watching the genius since I first worked here. I watched my father's performance for four years. My first memory was actually of my dad trashing the house. My second memory is watching my mother kneeling over his corpse, crying her heart out over the man she had once loved. After all of those experiences, I couldn't believe it took me forever to figure it out.

"What type?" He actually looked up from the ground. I expected him to give me a weird look, but he seemed like he understood.

"Diluadid."

I heard that diluadid was used as a pain killer in Germany, but I also heard that it was highly addictive.

"My mother is schizophrenic. She lives in a center in Las Vegas. I miss her. I used the diluadid to get the memories of her back. It seems that my life has forced me to forget all about my mother."

I kneeled down so I was within eye-view of him. "I know how addictive it can be," I told him. "I know it's difficult to stop. But you need to. You wouldn't want to turn into my father."

He suddenly fell out of his chair and onto the ground. The tears had won over him and started to flood the ground. "I-I-I-oh God, I'm pathetic!"

I had to hold him in my arms. I was surprised on how he was admitting all of this to me. But I understood him. I could only think of one thing to say.

"You can't let go unless you get help."

When I went to work the next day, I noticed an envelope on my desk. I could tell already that it had something to do with Spencer.

_Blair,_

_After yesterday, I realized that I really do need help. I never got it because I didn't want to separate from the memories of my mother. But I realized that I don't need the drugs to have the memories of my mother. I went to a rehabilitation center. I already told Aaron Hotchner and the rest of the BAU will find out about it soon. I was actually surprised on how comfortable I was about telling you about my addiction, but I was more surprised on how comfortable you were on telling me about your father's addiction._

_I just want you to know, I would never end up like your father. I was actually afraid of turning into people like your father. I'll probably in here for a little while. I hope you'll be able to visit._

_Love,_

_Spencer_


End file.
